


Ancient Souls

by Fandom_Brat



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Sadly, its not virgil and his dads this time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Brat/pseuds/Fandom_Brat
Summary: In this AU, everyone has past lives, but one soul. No two souls where ever born at the same time, and the older the soul, the more nutritious it is for the Darkness. The Darkness has been looking for the two oldest souls in history for a millennia, but they just so happen to be Patton and Logan Berry, the fathers of Virgil. They move across the country at all times to stay away from the Darkness, staying together for each of their lives. It was when they decided to finally start fighting instead of running that it all started to crumble and right when Virgil had finally made a permanent friend, too.





	1. Chapter 1

My family was never one to stay in one place. We would move around the country, even the outside of it, never staying in one place for more than a few months. We didn’t even unpack all of our boxes, just the essentials, and we don’t have very many boxes anyway, just clothes and some heirlooms, and maybe some entertainment stuff.

My dads never told me why, but it always felt like we were running from something. When I was a child, I would like to pretend that there was a monster chasing us as we drove down the highway, but those fantasies ended up giving me nightmares, so I had to spend most of my time in Washington in therapy. Dr. Picani was nice, though, I miss him.

As I grew, I learned to not make friends. My peers would try to get near me, but I would glare at them and put my headphones on, blocking them out. I knew it wasn’t healthy, and Papa did, too, but there was nothing we could do about it, until Dad found a stable job to support us. And we all knew that that would take a long time.

Well, we thought anyway. I thought I would have to move out of the car before I stopped moving everywhere, but it turned out that I would only be 15. It was all so weird, being told you were finally going to stay in a single place for more than a few months, then finding yourself outside of your new house. Unreal.

“I still can’t believe you managed to find a job here!” I heard Papa say to my right. I looked over and saw him embracing Dad, his bouncy, brown hair flying through the wind that was blowing through the air. 

When you compared Dad and Papa, you, honestly, would never think that they were married, or even managed to get along. Papa, or Patton, as adults call him, was a bouncing ball of joy, always smiling and laughing, and a serious empath. Dad, or Logann, however, was the exact opposite. He didn’t seem capable of emotion sometimes, and his brown hair was slicked back, and he always dressed like he was going to a business meeting in an hour. And yet, they managed to fall in love and adopt me, making us a cute little family, even if some other people didn’t like that they were together. 

“Virgil!” Dad called, untangling himself from Papa’s arms, “Will you come help me move your clothes up to your room?”

“Sure, Dad,” I called, walking over, my black, bluetooth headphones thumping against my collar bone. I helped him pull out the boxes that contained my clothes, just a few, while Papa watched us, waiting for his turn.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow for furniture and decorations,” he said, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Why?” I asked, turning around, box in hand, “It’s not like we’re gonna stay here for very long,”

I could feel their sad stares as I walked up to the front door, which was held open by another box. They knew why I was acting like that, I had never had a real home, but they seemed certain that this was our new home. I still didn’t believe them.

The foyer was big, a set of stairs to the left, a doorway leading to a small kitchen to the right, and a hallway leading to a living room that connected to the kitchen right in front. I rolled my eyes at the place and began my trek upstairs.

It was easy to find my room, since it was the one with the purple splotch of paint on the front. Papa had thought it would be a cute idea to paint our doors each of our favorite colors, so he put a small splotch of each color on the corresponding door. Seemed stupid to me

I pushed my way into the room and set the box and my backpack down to the side, looking around. A closet was to the right, a window in the far wall, but, other than that, the room was bear. No different than all of the rooms in all of the other houses I had lived in.

“Kiddo, I know you don’t believe us,” I heard a slightly sharp voice say behind me, “but this really is our home now,” I turned to see Papa and Dad each holding a box and standing in the doorway of my room, sad expressions on their faces.

“And yet, it doesn’t feel like home,” I sighed, clutching the sleeves of my oversized hoodie, “but, then again, I don’t know what that feels like anyway,”

“Virgil,” Papa said, his voice soft and warm, “I promise you that this is the last time we will unpack these boxes,” he gestured to the boxes next to the door, “and do I ever break a promise?”

I thought back to my whole life, and all the times Papa had ever promised something, and I realized he was right. “No,” I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Then you know that I mean it when I say,” he bent down and put his hand on my shoulder, “that this is where we will stay for the rest of our days,”

I was silent for a moment before I jump into a hug, my arms wrapping around Papa with ease. “Fine,” I whispered, pulling away, “but I’m not sure how long it will take for it to actually feel like home,”

“That’s okay, kiddo,” Papa said, planting a kiss on my forehead, “It may take awhile, but we  _ will _ make this a home,”

“And,” Dad interjected, kneeling beside us, “we can help that process by making lists of what we want to buy tomorrow,”

I watched Papa’s eyes light up and his whole body start to vibrate, like it always does when he gets happy. “Oh! Come on, Lo Lo, let’s go make some lists!” he shouted, jumping up and grabbing Dad’s hand, “It’ll be like Christmas!” And, just like that, they were out of the room, leaving me to my own devices.

I stood in the doorway of my room for a moment before reaching for my backpack. It just had a binder full of paper, some notebooks, a pencil pouch, and a small sewing kit in it, but it was all I had for entertainment in the car, other than my phone and laptop.

Quietly, while thinking about what I wanted to put on the list, I grabbed the black binder and a pencil. Part of it was easy, a bed, some Nightmare Before Christmas sheets, and a desk, but, when I tried to imagine it all in my room, none of it felt right. Then, an idea came to mind, one that had me hesitating, asking myself if I was asking too much. Posters, some of Panic! At the Disco, some Evanescence, and even some Disney ones. That would make it all feel a little good.

At that point, though, it was starting to get dark, so I set down my stuff and went to the window, looking out into the neighborhood. The sun was touching the horizon and the whole place was quiet, except for a couple of kids playing in the street. That is, until an old car pulled up to the house right across the street, an older teenager stepping out and going into the house, not looking at anybody. He looked kinda cool, with his leather jacket and all, but I didn’t pay him much attention, paying more mind to the setting sun. 

The last rays of sunlight finally fell and Papa called me from the living room, the smell of pasta carrying up to my nose. I hadn’t even noticed the sounds or smells of cooking.

I walked down the stairs and was sat down in an empty living room, bowls full of pasta set in front of us. “Huh, no red sauce,” I remarked, bringing it up to my nose.

“Yep,” Papa said excitedly, “Cheesy sauce tonight!”

“We thought it would be beneficial for us all if we switched it up a little,” Dad said while Papa stuffed his face.

A tiny smile managed to break out on my face and I ate up, my stomach filling with the warm, yummy noodles. It was the best dinner I had had all week.

About 2 hours later, I found myself at the window of my room, my empty sleeping bag discarded by my feet. The moon was full and enticing, something that made me want to stare at it for hours.

A flick brought my attention away from the sky, another light across the street even more interesting. It was just a single light bulb in one of the upper rooms of the house across the street, but it took my attention like Papa catches stray dogs to give them food.

The curtains were open, allowing me to slightly see a figure in the window. It was a boy that looked around my age, but I couldn’t see anymore details once he closed the curtains, the lights going off a moment later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter will actually explain a little bit about the souls of people. Hope you enjoy

The next morning, I was woken up by Papa’s excited chattering outside my room. He seemed to be talking to Dad about something, since I could just barely hear the monotone responses when Papa paused his tiny rant.

“Good morning, kiddo!” he yelled, throwing the door open and jumping into my room, still in his cat onesie. Dad was behind him, dressed in his black collared shirt and blue tie, like usual.

“I believe it is time to go pick some stuff out for our new home,” he said, briskly walking into my room and sitting down next to me, “Have you finished your list?”

I nodded and stretched a tired hand to my right, where a folded list was waiting. I handed it to Dad and sat up, rubbing my eyes while Papa looked over his shoulder to look at my list.

“Wow, kiddo,” he remarked, tilting his head, “This isn’t a very long list,”

“Yeah,” I yawned, pulling my hoodie on over my shirt, “I didn’t wanna seem like I was asking too much of you guys,”

“Aww, kiddo, you could never ask too much of us!” Papa exclaimed, pulling me into a sleepy hug, “But, if this is what you want, this is what we’ll get,”

“Thanks, Papa,” I said, my vision still a little blurry, “Let’s get going,”

As we were walking out, I saw the same guy from last night, getting into the same car. He waved at us before calling out to someone inside. The boy from before ran out and climbed into the car before I could make much out. All I saw was the red jacket before I climbed into my own car.

Being back in the car without all the stuff we usually kept in it felt...weird, to say the least. I was finally able to move my legs around without being subjected to the many bags and devices all over everything. It was weird, but it was awesome.

“Look, kiddo!” Papa exclaimed, pointing out the window, “That’s your new school!”

My eyes found their way out the window and to the red and brown bricked building on the other side of the glass. It was simple, just a normal and large brick building, some students still outside, since we had left the house early in the morning, but I could barely look at it. I hated looking at the new schools I was “attending”, even if this one was supposedly ‘til I graduate.

“Looks the same as all the other ones,” I mumbled, crossing my arms and staring out the other window, “Just brick and students that I’ll never talk to,”

Neither of my dads said anything, but I could practically feel the sad look they shared as I slipped on my headphones. I didn’t want to listen to the world, so I just put on the Skillet. It’s calming, for some weird reason.

Shopping was surprisingly easy. We went into the furniture store first, and, even though Dad had to talk Papa out of cat furniture, the visit went rather quickly. We ordered what we wanted and we were told it would be shipped to us in two to three business days. I hate it when people talk like that.

Next, we went to a general store and just looked for decorations. Most of it I tuned out, except when we were looking at the stuff for my room, then I had a lot to say, even if I kept apologizing. In the end, I picked some glow-in-the-dark stars for my ceiling and a few cool posters. Dad even said I was allowed to paint on my walls, so I picked out an art set to use.

In no time at all, we were back in the car, the sun setting as we drove home. We ended up in a traffic jam and my phone was dead, so Papa used it as an opportunity to make small talk.

“So, did we tell you about Logan’s new job, yet, kiddo?” he asked, turning in his seat to look at me. Dad turned to me as well, but kept his eyes on the road from the driver’s seat.

“No,” I mumbled, placing my head on the window, “You didn’t seem to want to talk about it,”

“We were actually trying to keep it a surprise, but-” Dad began, but Papa interrupted him, ready to burst at the seams with excitement.

“He’s an English teacher at your new school!” he shouted, sending me into a coma from shock.

“You mean,” I said slowly, trying not to choke on my words, “The people I’m going to be surrounded by for the next two and a half years will be taught by Dad?”

The nod I received as confirmation from Papa was enough to make me scream. “Why? What if they hate him? Then they’ll hate me, then we’ll have to move again, because I just can’t deal with that, then it’s gonna be exactly like it was before we got here and I’ll have to get rid of all my cool new stuff, and and,” The rest of what I wanted to say was lost in the panic attack that had been growing.

A pain pooled into my stomach and the wind was knocked out of me, so much so that I could barely breathe. All noise was muffled and everything I saw was slowed down as my brain sped up and I seemed to fall into an infinite abyss. Everything was wrong.

In my head, I saw some of my older selves. This happened every time I had a panic attack and it was still terrible. They were all sitting in chairs in a semicircle, which was very small, since there were only a couple of them.

The first one, the youngest, was only 12, rope burns around his neck and clothes from the 50s on his body. The second one was about 20, this time wearing clothes clothes from the 80s, a bullet hole in his forehead. The last one was only 4, a little pair of wet footie pajamas on his body, water coming from everywhere. Suicide, shot, and drowned respectively, none of them moving, since they no longer had a soul. They all shared one, and it was in me right then. Our shared soul wasn’t that old.

The whole place was taken from me in an instant, the voices of my dads pulling me back to reality. The car returned and the dark place was gone, everything around me in full picture and sound, like when a TV is fixed after a while.

“You okay, kiddo?” Papa asked, his hands on my shoulders. I looked around and saw that he had gotten into the back seat with me while Dad stayed up front, worried eyes still on traffic.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, pulling the hood of my hand-sewn hoodie over my face, “Just freaked out ‘s all,”

“Virgil, that was a panic attack, not a freak out,” I heard Dad say from the front, “We need to know if you’re in a well enough condition to function,”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, irritable now that I was out. That always happened after a panic attack.

Papa could see it and backed off, taking his hands away from my shoulders. “Alright, Virge,” he said, climbing back into the front seat, “Just making sure,” I huffed and looked out the window, trying my best not to cry or fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

My room was decorated completely within three days, the Sunday before I was scheduled to go to my new school. My bed was in the corner near my closet, and my dresser was next to it. My desk was right in front the window, some books and art supplies piled high on its shelves. Posters of all sorts, even though they were mostly dark, were plastered all over my walls, which were painted a deep purple with black and green Coraline-like designs all over them. I liked it and it was me.

I was admiring the whole place from my desk, the window behind me open, when a door being slammed snapped me out my thoughts. I turned around and saw the two boys across the street coming out of their house, the older one wrapping his arms around the younger one, and I finally got a somewhat decent look of them.

The older one was wearing simple white washed jeans and a white shirt, a leather jacket over it, and a pair of old sneakers. The younger one had on a Disney shirt on and a pair of ripped jeans, sneakers on his feets as well. Both had brown hair and tanned skin, so I assumed that they were brothers.

My look at them didn’t last long, since they got into the old car in the front, driving away quickly. And Papa called out to me as well.

“Virge, it’s time to go to bed! You and Logan have school in the morning!” he called from his room.

“Okay, Papa!” I called back, climbing into my bed, already in my Nightmare Before Christmas pajamas.

My dreams were standard, just me sitting in a dark room with music playing. Usually it was classical, like the kind of music Dad always played in the car, but it would also be 50s pop, like what Papa likes to sing. It would never be any of the music I would listen to, which always bothered me, but I liked it. It was calming in a way.

The music was stopped by the buzzing of my alarm clock, which basically just pulled me out of the dark room and into my own bedroom. Light spilled over my bed from the window and blinded me, so I turned over and went back to sleep.

Until the cold rush of the sheets being pulled off of me startled me. “Don’t even think about it, Virgil,” Papa scolded, clutching my balled up sheets in his fists, “You have school today, and you aren’t going to be late,”

I groaned and sat up, my hands groping the air near my sheets. “Wanna go back sleep,” I  mumbled, squeezing my eyes shut, “Don’ wanna go school,”

“Virgil, it is imperative you are not late today,” I heard Dad say from my doorway, “You were the one that wished to make a good first impression,”

There it was. My eyes snapped open and I jumped out of bed, checking my alarm clock. “It’s only 6:00! Oh man, I’m gonna be late!” I yelled, running to my dresser and pulling out some clothes.

“Woah!” Papa exclaimed, narrowly dodging a pair of jeans, “Kiddo, school doesn’t start until 8!”

“But I need to make sure my clothes are clean and I have a good breakfast and I have all my things, and if I don’t, then we’ll have to go to the store to get them and then I’ll be late and all my teachers will hate me, and then-” 

“Virgil.” Dad said firmly, stopping me in the pacing I didn’t even realize I was doing, “You must calm down and inhale for 4 seconds, then hold for 7 seconds, then exhale for 8,”

I stopped and did as I has told, all the color returning to the world and the muffled sound turning into clear ones. “Thanks, Dad,” I said, flopping into his shoulder, “I needed that,”

“And don’t worry, kiddo,” Papa said from behind Dad, “We made sure you had everything you needed and breakfast is almost done,” He paused for a second before his eyes widened. “THE EGGS!!!” he yelled, the bolted out of my room. Dad and I sat there for a second more just staring at the doorway before I began to laugh, almost all my nerves washing away.

I found myself standing outside of the school building, my heavy backpack on my shoulders, my headphones on, and my schedule in hand. Standing outside, it looked a lot bigger than it had in the car and my nerves were coming back. I didn’t even have Dad there with me, because he needed to rush off to his classroom to get everything set up, so I was on my own.

“Okay,” I said to myself, looking down at my schedule, “I have History with Mr. Sanders first,”

The classroom itself was normal, along with a few motivational posters and pictures of important historical figures, and even the teacher looked normal. His brown hair was swooped in front, his bangs seeming to float above his pale face. He wore a dark blue button-down, a pair of khakis, and some running shoes. At the time, he was grading a stack of papers, his pen finding its way between his teeth.

“Mr. Sanders?” I asked, walking up to the desk. I hated first interactions with teachers.

He looked up from the paper he was grading and smiled at me. “Hello, you must be Virgil, my new student,” he said, standing and holding his hand out. I timidly shook it and nodded, trying to calm my insanely beating heart.

“Well, you came at a great time,” Mr. Sanders said, pointing to the whiteboard, “We’re starting our next unit, The American Revolution, and I’m not holding you responsible for any assignments in previous chapters,”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, looking around at the nearly empty classroom, “Where do I sit?”

“The desk nearest to the door,” he said before sitting down, “and just remember that I’m always here if you need any help with your coursework,”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” I mumbled, knowing full well I’m too anxious to ever ask for help from the teacher. It’s what they want to hear, though, so that’s what I say.

I walked over to my desk and set my stuff up, my pencils resting at the top of the desk and my phone out to keep me company. Looking around, I saw that I wasn’t alone in the room. A small group of friends were clustered around a desk, listening to music with their headphones all plugged into the same phone with one of those share ports. Other than that, I was the only student in the classroom.

That is, until someone I was  _ not _ expecting to see walked in: the kid the lived across the street. It was most definitely the same kid, same hair style and face structure, even if he was wearing a different outfit than usual. This time, he was wearing a white shirt with a red scarf wrapped around his body, like a sash, and a pair of jeans, as well as some black sneakers. 

Bad news: He was cute. 

Good news: He didn’t see me at first. 

Worse news: He sat. Right. Next. To. Me. 

It took all I could to not start screaming while the rest of the class filed in. If this was gonna be the way it would be everyday during first period, this was gonna be a long year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made Thomas a teacher. The rest of his friends will be the other teachers, so look out for them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a slight anxiety attack at the beginning of this chapter. Give you three guesses who had it.

The bell rang, making me jump in my seat and the rest of the class go silent. If they already weren’t, they dashed towards their seats and looked to the front, eager to listen to Mr. Sanders. Strange, I had never seen an entire class react that way to a teacher. They must’ve really respected him.

“Well, class,” he began, standing from his desk, “as you know, we will be starting on our American Revolution unit today,” Some students in the class did tiny, silent dances, and some even began to sing the intro to Hamilton. I’ll admit, I had listened to it a few times. A few meaning a couple hundred.

“Yes, I know a few of you are theatre nerds, as I am” Mr. Sanders said, silencing the class, “but there’s someone I must introduce first,”

There it was. The drop in my stomach that happens every time those words are spoken on my first day. The words that make me want to curl up and die, but then I’d have even more attention on me than the 30 pairs of eyes that suddenly realized I was there.

I felt myself stand up when Mr. Sanders motioned for me to, but I felt like a ghost watching the chaos unfold from the ceiling, silently praying for it to stop, so I wouldn’t have to endure this second-hand embarrassment. Except, it wasn’t second-hand, I was going through it right then and there and it terrified me to no end, but I kept a straight (lol) face to keep from getting any more attention.

_ Just keep staring at that spot on the back of the wall _ I repeated to myself, trying to at least listen to what Mr. Sanders was saying to me  _ Just keep staring at it and try not to think about the fact that you’re in front of, like 30 or so people. _

“Everyone, this is Virgil,” Mr. Sanders said next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I tensed up and the hand immediately left my shoulder, though Mr. Sanders didn’t look at me.

“He’s new here and I want you all to treat him as you do everyone else in this class, which is to say with kindness,” he continued, giving the rest of the class a slight warning look, “Virgil,” he turned to me, “Can you please tell us where you just moved from?”

“I, uh, don’t know,” I began, cursing myself at the crack in the voice. I cleared my throat and began again, ignoring the looks of confusion from everyone. “I mean, I, um, have lived basically everywhere. The last place I lived in was, uh, Los Angeles, but I only lived there for, like a month or two?” I ended it with a question, hoping what I said didn’t sound too stupid to the rest of the class. My tongue seemed to jump into the back of my throat as the class stayed silent for what felt like an eternity, even though it was probably only a couple of seconds.

“Well, that’s certainly something we haven’t heard before, Virgil,” Mr. Sanders said, breaking the thick silence, “You may take your seat,” I swear, at those words, I had to dig my nails into my palms to keep from launching myself into my desk. 

My eyes wandered the sea of faces on my way to my only saving grace and they landed on the boy who lives near me. His own eyes were watching me, just like everyone else, but with a more fascinating than curiosity. His eyebrows were scrunched up and his head was tilted to the side, making him look even cuter than he already- What? Anyway, it probably wouldn’t’ve mattered, but then he smiled. And I may have bumped my hip into my desk on the way by. So, yeah, that was when I flung myself into my seat and caved in on myself. I could still feel his eyes on me for a split second when everyone else’s turned to Mr. Sanders when he started talking.

“So, as you all know, I have you do a project at the beginning of a unit to help you get a feel for it before we dive right in,” Mr. Sanders said, turning to the board, “This unit’s is going to be a “Your Choice” project, so you will have to present it, but it can be on whatever you guys want, so long as it’s from the unit we’re currently studying,”

A hand came up, causing the whole class to turn and look at the student in the back. They had super colorful hair, the waves of pink, purple, and green falling over one side of their head, their eyebrows matching. Their clothes were just as unique, the colors standing out against the black of the rest of the fabrics and the paleness of their skin. They were punk, but, like, a soft punk that made you want to pinch their cheeks.

“Yes, Talyn, you will be able to pick your partners,” Mr. Sanders said, smiling at the student, Talyn, as I the knew. They smiled and put their hand down, sitting at attention while the rest of the class seemed to fill with happiness. Well, almost the whole class.

I was still filled with anxiety for having to present the project, but having to work with someone I didn’t know in  a school I had never been in before? Nope, I was basically imploding. It had always felt more simple, since I knew I wouldn’t know them later, that I would be moving in a matter of weeks, but, this time, it was different. This time, I was staying and would have to endure the embarrassment for the next few years. That thought alone made me wish the world would swallow me up and take me to its center.

“Alright, class, go ahead,” Mr. Sanders said, descending the whole class into chaos. Everyone got out of their seats and made a beeline for the person they wanted to partner with, some of them already discussing the topic of their project. I sat there, hoping and praying I would get overlooked and be able to do the whole project by myself. Instead, the universe had a different, more terrible idea: letting  _ him _ look over at me.

Yep, the boy that sat right next to me, much like our houses, turned towards me and tapped my hunched shoulder. “Would you like to partner with me, Virgil?” he asked, giving me n choice but to look up. My heart did flips at his brown eyes, but I managed to keep my face cool.

“Sure,” I said, shrugging, “I’m not sure how this works, anyway,”

“Oh, that easy,” he said enthusiastically, pulling a history book from the bottom of his desk. I followed his actions and flipped to the same page he was on.

“A “Your Choice” project means that we can basically make the project however we want to, just so long as we research part of the unit,” he said, searching the chapter’s table of contents with a concentrated face, “and I know exactly where we should start,”

He apparently found what he was looking for, because his face lit up and he turned to the page he wanted with a flourish, the pages slamming onto the rest of the book. I flinched, more from the noise than anything, so I didn’t notice that he froze up for a second and looked around. By the time my eyes opened up, he was staring at the book again.

I followed his look at the top of the page and nearly rolled my eyes. “Hamilton, I should’ve guessed,”

“What’s wrong with Hamilton?” he asked, a slight edge of defense crawling into his voice.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said quickly, trying to keep him from being mad at me, “it’s just that, from the look of everyone, a lot of people are going to do him,”

“No, just Maria and Eliza,” he said, a hand quickly coming up to cover his mouth once he said it.

I stared at him for no longer than a second before a snort left my mouth, prompting me to nearly shove my entire hand up my mouth to keep from making that sound again. It was super embarrassing when I did that, and, thankfully, no one else heard us.

“Anyway,” he said, taking his hand from his mouth with a giddy expression, “What do you think we should do?”

I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, my hand coming from my mouth in favor of picking at the strings of my hoodie. “Well, I was thinking we do an event, rather than a person,”

His eyes lit up and he flipped to another page in  his book, his finger coming down to proudly point at the words on the top of one section. “The Battle of Yorktown?” I asked, looking down at it, forgetting about my own book.

“Yeah!” he said, and I failed to notice the way he spoke in a rush, like he hoped I would like it, “We can do an event, like you want, and it will still tie into Hamilton a little bit,”

I studied the thought, trying to make sure it was a good compromise and I, honestly, thought it was pretty cool. It also didn’t help that, even though we had met not even a few minutes ago, the puppy eyes he made without knowing made me want to melt.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, sitting back in my chair, “How do you want to do it?”

His face lit up and he pulled a slightly beaten laptop from his backpack. “Powerpoint presentation?” he asked, “I love doing those,”

I smiled slightly and nodded. “Sure,” I said, pulling out my own, slightly better taken care of, laptop and getting on my Slides account. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, making me want to cringe in embarrassment.

“By the way,” I said slowly, hoping for him to ignore me. Instead, he looked up and gave me his full attention, a curious look on his face that gave a silent  _ What’s up? _ look.

“I, um, forgot to ask your name,” I stuttered, swallowing my tongue to keep from dying of embarrassment. 

I expected him to roll his eyes and bark his name, but he seemed to be a lot more patient than that. Instead, he smiled and told me. “Roman. Roman Prince,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman was literally me when we were studying the American Revolution in my American History class this year XD. Dear Lord, I love Hamilton. And Dear Evan Hansen. And Heathers. And Be More Chill. And Chicago. And RENT. Help, I'm drowning in a sea of theatre and I love it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING* A slight mention of the f-word slur in this chapter, tho it is not said all the way

Class ended an hour later, leaving me and Roman nearly finished with the project. Roman was surprisingly good at adding the pictures and videos for the whole thing and giving it a good aesthetic, so he let me do the writing part, even if he edited it.

“I can finish it up tonight, if I don’t have any other homework,” I said when the bell rang, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Sounds good,” Roman said, also swinging his bag, “and I’ll get to my part whenever I can, hopefully tonight,”

“Well I have Advanced Chemistry now, so…” I said, trailing off while I looked to the side. Roman seemed to take the hint and walked off, sending me a wave on his way down the hall. Be still my heart.

One good thing about that school: we could wear headphones between classes. I walked up the two flights of stairs to my next class blasting some Evanescence into my brain, loving the way it melted all of my thoughts away. 

The class was mostly full when I got there, a few students filing in and the rest talking amongst themselves. This classroom exhibited a lot of the same energy that the other one did, most likely because of the fact that it was all advanced kids.

I slipped my headphones off and began to walk up to the teacher to get the gist of the class. They looked more like a college student than anything. They wore a pair of blue jeans and a dress shirt that had the top two buttons undone, but they wore an orange beanie with it all. There was a slight stubble on their chin and their hair was short, from what I could see under the beanie. This was Mx. Joan.

“Hello, Mx. Joan,” I said, walking up to their desk.

They looked up from a list they were making and smiled at me. “And you must be Virgil, yes?” they asked, “Well, take a seat anywhere you’d like, we’re continuing our unit on mitosis today, so I want you to try and keep up as best you can, but don’t pressure yourself, got it?”

“Yes, Mx.” I said, sitting down at taking out all of my stuff. Most of what happened in class was the same as the last one, except for the fact that I wasn’t called up to the front of the room to introduce myself. Since I had already learned about mitosis in one of my previous schools, I just stared off into space, startled when the bell rang.

“Okay class!” Mx. Joan shouted as we all left, “Make sure to study the last section of chapter seven tonight!”

Anxiety began knotting up in my stomach, but I pushed it down, reminding myself I skimmed the whole chapter in class because I was bored and I knew everything. To take my mind off of it, I looked at my schedule.

And promptly died. English, with Mr. Berry. Yeah, no, I was not gonna go to the class my dad was in, but I did, because I’d get in trouble. I was just gonna keep my head down and make sure that I never made any friends in there.

In fact, I was just going over that plan in my head when I walked into class and promptly saw both my Dad and Roman. That seems to be the perfect metaphor for my life at this point. To make it worse, Roman saw me and immediately walked over to me to talk.

“Hello, you Emo Nightmare!” he said, stopping in front of me, “We share two classes it seems,”

I blinked once, glancing at Dad for a split second before responding. “Emo Nightmare?” I asked, arching an eyebrow, “Am I that obvious?”

Roman tossed his head back and laughed. “Well, with the eyeshadow, bangs, and dark look, you practically scream that you’re the Incredible Sulk,” he said, starting to walk away and motioning for me to follow him.

I did as he asked and sat in the seat next to his. “How many of those do you have?” I asked, rubbing my temples, “because that one was bad!”

Roman, ever the drama queen, threw his hand onto his chest and cried, “Your words offend me!”

I laughed a little and nudged him, my knuckles feeling tingly. “Oh, woe is you,” I said sarcastically, “How will you ever survive?”

He flopped to the side, his hands coming to cradle his chest. “I shall never know,” he mumbled sadly, causing me to laugh slightly.

“You’ll be fine, Sir Sing-A-Lot,” I muttered, blowing a piece of stray hair of of my face.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, sitting up again, “I like that nickname! ANd I’m going to use it!” He struck a pose and laughed loudly, causing some people to look at him, but he didn’t seem to care. He was awesome.

“Alright class,” someone said, snapping me out of my fantasy and into the terrible reality, “My name is Mr. Berry, and I will be your new English teacher, seeing as how your last one left not too long ago,”

Dad’s lessons were not as I suspected: entertaining. He kept using really outdated puns and jokes, trying to get us to pay attention. One kid tried to say something that was so stupid, we actually did his falsehood yell. And he really was able to make it fun, despite his sharp aura.

The bell rang, meaning lunch and I practically jumped out of my seat to make it out before Dad said anything and yet. “Virgil, I wish to speak with you for a minute?”

I flinched and turned around, waiting to hear the ‘how was your school day?’, instead I was met with a screen and Papa’s face. “Hiya, kiddo!” he said, “I just wanted to know how your day was going!”

“And you couldn’t just text me?” I asked, glancing around to make sure no one else was in the room.

“You wouldn’t answer,” he said, pouting, “so I had to resort to this,” My eyes widened and I checked my phone, seeing that I did indeed have 10 messages from Papa.

“Sorry, Papa,” I mumbled, shoving it back into my pocket, “My day has been okay so far,”

“He seems to have made a friend,” Dad said suddenly, “Roman Prince,”

I looked up at Dad in horror as Papa’s eyes lit up. “You made a friend!” he squealed, “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, Papa!” I said quickly, “I have to get to lunch, so I’llseeyoulaterbye!” With that, I rushed out of the room before he could say anything else.

“So,” a voice said outside the door, “the teacher is your dad?”

I looked up at nearly screamed when I saw Roman leaning against the wall, a smug look on his face. “Why are you still here?” I asked, crossing my arms and heading towards the cafeteria, “Lunch started already,”

“I was waiting for you, Negative Nancy,” he said, walking by my side, easily keeping pace with his longer legs.

My face lit up red and I turned away. “Why, um, would you wait for me?” I mumbled, “You must have other friends,”

I saw him shrug as we entered the cafeteria, holding the door open for me. “I’d rather spend time with you, though,” 

We began assembling our lunches and sat down at an empty table. He started talking about theatre immediately, going on a rant about all of his favorites, which rang from classics, like Chicago, to the newer versions, like Dear Evan Hansen. I stayed quiet for the most part, occasionally inputting my opinion or giving a rating on an impression, until something hit me in the back of the head.

I turned around and saw two kids at the table behind me. They were sneering and laughing, making comments under their breath. I tried to turn around and ignore them, but Roman, seeing me, turned and saw.

“Hey!” he yelled at them, “What’ the big idea?”

The kid on the right, a boy with a snapback on backwards, glared at Roman. “Zip it, theatre freak, we’re just messing with the new kid,”

Roman’s eyes flared with fire and he stood up, his whole body facing the two boys. “What did you just call me?” he said in a low voice.

“Roman,” I whispered, trying to pull him back down, “Leave it, please,”

He ignored me and intensified his glare. “I’ll ask you one more time,” he growled, “What did you just call me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the other boy sneered, “Would you prefer you and your boyfriend to be called fa-?” That was when Roman snapped and launched himself at the two boys.


	6. Chapter 6

“So, Mr. Berry, what exactly happened?” the principal, Ms. Valerie, asked me. I was sitting in her office after having been a witness to the fight in the cafeteria. 

“The two boys, Ryan and Daniel, threw a piece of trash at my head,” I said, “When I turned around, Roman saw and turned as well, asking them what they were doing. They called him a name and he got defensive, then they insulted me again and he jumped at them. I swear, I was just trying to pull him off of them,”

“I believe you,” she said, pulling out a folder, “however, I can not excuse the fact that Roman was the one who threw the first punch. I am required to suspend him for three days,”

“But he didn’t start it!” I exclaimed, covering my mouth when I realized what I said.

“While he may not have started the initial, verbal fight, he started the physical fight by throwing the first punch,” she stated, looking sad about it, “There’s not much I can do,”

I sighed and thought back to my story, a light bulb suddenly going off in my head. “Technically, one of them did, since they threw the trash at my head,” I said, looking up, “That counts, right?”

Ms. Valerie blinked exactly five times before her face split into a small smile. “You’re quite right,” she said, “and quite loyal to your friend,”

She stood up, motioning for me to do the same, and we walked out of her office, meeting with the three boys. To be fair to Roman, he did a pretty good job on them. Each boy had a bruise under his eye and a cut across his cheek, a rag pressed against them to stop the blood flow. Roman himself had no visible marks, but his head shot up when he saw us.

“Mr. Prince,” Ms. Valerie said, turning to him and making him squeeze his eyes shut in fear, “You may go back to class with Mr. Berry here,”

Roman’s eyes widened on his blank face, while Ryan and Dylan both jump up, anger clear on their faces. “But he was the one who punched  _ us _ !” Dylan yelled, “Why is he getting to go free?”

“As I understand it,” Ms. Valerie said, staring at the two boys intensely, “It was not Mr. Prince who started the whole thing and certainly not him who threw the first punch,” She stood to the side and gestured towards her office, “Come with me,”

The two boys trudged in, glaring at me with rage. “Don’t think this is over,” Dylan growled, the door closing in his face.

I just stood there, his words seeping in before shaking my head and turning back around, only to get an armful of Roman. “Thank you!” Roman said, squeezing me tight, “You have no idea what that meant to me!”

I blinked and slowly hugged him back, a little confused. “A week of suspension isn’t that bad,” I said, pushing him back a bit.

Roman blinked and blushed a bit, rubbing his neck and stepping back. “Yeah,” he said, “Sorry, I just worry about how my parents would react if they found out,”

I blinked and opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but thought better of it, biting my lip instead. We stood there in awkward silence for what seemed like an aternity, until one of us cleared our throat. I think it was Roman, but I was too embarrassed to commit it to memory.

“We should head back to class,” he said, “I can walk you to yours, if you want,”

I blinked and stared at him for a minute, my mind basically screaming in both joy and fear. “I, um, uh, sure?” I managed to choke out, nearly kicking myself from embarrassment.

He frowned. “Unless you don’t want me to,” he said, “Because I can-”

“No!” I yelled, then caught myself and cleared my throat, “N-No, it’s, um, okay, if you wanna walk with me, that is,” I turned away to make sure he didn’t see how red I was.

“Great!” he said, making me look up. His face had lit up and his hands were curled into excited fists on his cheeks. It made me want to stare forever.

“Uh, okay,” I said, starting to walk, “I have Home Ec,”

He bounced beside me, his lips pulled into a grin. “I have Creative Writing next,” he said, “It’s a really fun class and I absolutely love getting to let myself be creative,”

He rambled on and on as we walked. I stopped him a few times when he started getting off topic, but it was, honestly, fun to listen to him talk. The way his lips stretched into a smile as he spoke of his stories, or the way his eyes lit up talking about theatre. I don’t know, it just made me want to smile, even if the topic didn’t interest me. I was, actually, kinda sad when we got to his class.

“So, um, I’ll see you later?” I asked shyly, shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets. 

He nodded and grinned slightly. “Of course, my Dark Prince,” he said and bowed as he went into the classroom.

I stood outside the door for a moment longer, eyes wide, before turning on my heel and walking to my classroom. I couldn’t even remember which class it was, because I was drawing in my notebook the whole time. All I could remember was what I wrote down and drew: Roman Prince in calligraphy.

The rest of the day seemed to fly past and soon enough, I was sitting in the back of the car, Papa in the front seat.

“So how was your day, kiddo?” he asked as he started to pull out. 

I jumped up and took his shoulder to stop him. “Wait, I um, I’m waiting for someone,” I mumbled, slowly sitting back down.

He blinked and looked back at me before nodding and stilling the car. After a minute or maybe two, Roman slid into the open door, sitting beside me. 

“Hey there, Brad Pittiful,” he said, hugging me with one arm, “How was your day?”

I bit back a squeak and nodded for Papa to start driving. He glanced back at me from the rearview mirror and smirked slightly before pulling out. Oh boy, I nearly jumped on him.

“It was okay, don’t remember most of it…” I mumbled, hiding behind my bangs slightly.

He scoffed and moved my hair. “One, no hiding. Two, it was that bad?” he said, actually sounding concerned.

My brain instantly went to my notebook in my bag and I shook my head. “No, it’s just that most of my classes were pretty boring compared to what I was doing,”

“What were you doing then?”

I paused. “Writing,”


End file.
